Chapter 5 – Desired Forgetting
Mark Cohen lasted three weeks before he went back to his drugs, back to the smack.
What changed? Mark never really knew, for he blocked the memory, but it was a truly catastrophic event, at the end of it, all he knew was that he was high, and he missed it.
He had been walking down the block to go back to his apartment; it was late at night, almost 2 am. Crossing the street he was stopped by a young-looking kid, the kid asking for a few bucks. Heedless to caution he started to reach into his pocket when he felt something fall on the back of his head.
When he next woke up, the scarf wasn't around his throat and he couldn't move his wrists. His arms were numb, they felt like a dead weight hanging from his shoulders, and all he could see was a man standing above him pulling his pants up. The man zipped up his pants and spit on him. He muttered something that Mark couldn't hear before walking away, out of the alley. Struggling to sit up, with feeling returning to his arms in painful pierces, he managed to get his wrists in front of him, and using his wrists unbound the scarf from around them. Quickly he wrapped the scarf around his neck, hiding the brand, and stood up, pulling up his torn pants at the same time. His clothing was a mess, and he only had no recollection of what had happened after he was knocked unconscious.
Not sure where he was going, he stumbled out of the alley way, standing on the corner looking around to get his bearings. He knew exactly where he wanted to go, and despite the fact that his clothes were torn and stained, he kept on. He was only a block away from his apartment, but that's not where he wanted to go. Walking down to the lowest part of town he found a man in an alley way and proceeded to beg. – Come on man, I just need some. No, I can't pay, god, can't you tell? I don't have anything on me. Come on, just this once? – the man refused to give anything away for free though.
He was desperate enough for what the man had that he was willing to do anything, anything to forget the crimes. So for the second time that night his trousers were pulled down and he was humiliated. But at the end of this second humiliation he was handed a little bag, a complete kit of everything he needed. Not even bothering to move from behind the dumpster where the dealer had abused him, he shot up, waiting for the rush that would fade to numbness start. Mark only desired to forget the night, and forget he did.
The next time he stumbled into his apartment, he remembered nothing, and just collapsed on his couch.
The next morning the only thought he had about the previous day was that it was a good thing he hadn't taken his camera with him.
a/n: not my favorite chapter, not at all, but I needed something to move the plot along a little bit so I could get to where I planned. Read and review please.